


Undertow

by LaughableLament



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal, Angst, Blow Jobs, Community: wincestbigbang, Don't copy to another site, First Time, Kissing, M/M, Merman Sam Winchester, Non-Graphic Suicide Attempt, Post-Episode: s08e10 Torn And Frayed, Wincest Big Bang, Wincest Big Bang 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 20:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21021983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: A not-so-brotherly riff onThe Little Mermaid.“And the Broken Hearts, men without country, without family, are transfixed and transformed by the Song. But all is not lost. For the Love of a Mortal can melt the Mer Heart, and thus restore the Human Form.” -the lore





	Undertow

**Author's Note:**

> Art and beta by **[Nisaki](https://nisaki-chan.tumblr.com/)**. Thank you, my friend, beyond all words. I love you, Sprinkles. ;)
> 
> This artwork is flat-out amazing! Please squee (and share!) **[HERE](https://nisaki-chan.tumblr.com/post/188341770059/art-for-wbb)**.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean bangs his EMF on his thigh. Rain-blind, can’t tell if this beach is clean or his meter’s just waterlogged. “Hey-yo, Sam! You gettin anything?” Dean squints.

Wind rips off the ocean; thunder booms. Thirty, forty yards away, Sam scans a fishing pier. Dean’s ears perk up. Some kind of moaning, almost, in the storm. Some kinda… melancholy wind-rain-wave thing—

_Like a dirge._

Dean rolls his eyes. No time to be getting all maudlin. “Hey, man, come on! I ain’t gettin nothin but wet out here!”

Sam walks on.

“Fuck.” Kid probably can’t even hear him. Dean picks his way across the sand. Moan in the wind builds, makes Dean’s ears ring. Forearm up, he shields his eyes—

Sam drops his EMF.

Icewater up Dean’s spine. “Sammy?”

Strips. Jacket and overshirt drop limp to the dock.

Dean fucking _runs._ Blasts through the tidepools. “Sammy!” Soaked boots like cinder blocks bang the pier boards. Blue-white lightning flares. Wind howls. “Sam Winchester,” Dean barks, “you turn around here and face me _now_; that’s an _order!_” Which, oughta get him cold-cocked.

Sam slides down his jeans.

“Sammy, stop!”

Long, lean arms stretch; bare ass flashes. Sam leaps, launches off the pier and vanishes under the waves.

Dean flails around with his flashlight, mostly just sees rain. _Grid._ He pulls himself together. _Search in a grid._

He gets a bead on… something. Bodies, arcing above the water. Dolphins or some shit…

Lightning forks across the sky. Dean sinks to his knees. He’s… well he's either losing his mind or…

_Those ain’t dolphins._

Dean swipes rain off his face, for all the good it does. Shoulda fuckin figured mermaids were a thing.

*

He runs a pushpin through the paper margin around Sam’s photo, hangs it high on the motel wall. Row of missing person fliers, details on the men who’d brought them to town. Fat file folder spills more copies—MILF-y librarian gave him one hell of a look when she saw he was working through books on mermaids.

Dean huffs. Tacks a local map below the pictures.

_…their Song, sometimes named their Cry or their Call…_

He pulls a red pen, yellow highlighter.

_…cold of Heart…_

He makes notes.

_…Love of a Mortal…_

Pins up pages.

_…bargain…_

Circles passages.

_…Seal King._

Dean chews his pen.

*

_Fuck California_. He walks in circles. Wet sand squishes between his toes. Little crabs and crawly things scuttle through the shadows. Crashing waves near deafen him._ And fuck me, too._ Hours, pacing this cave, dead fish slowly ripening in their offering bowl. Shoulda put Vicks on his lip, brought Lysol, something.

Sea spray snuffs his candles, again. Tide’s coming in; he’ll have to bail here before too long, but...

He bends down, fucks with his (naturally) soggy Zippo. Stops cold. All the water in the cave just, drains. Dean turns. Squints against the sinking sun—

_Ohh, shit._ And he braces for impact, not quick enough as a monster wave crests, slams through the cave and drives Dean breathless against the back wall.

“Ow.” Dean rubs his head, wipes off his face.

“Mortal.” Booming voice echoes as the wave subsides; the Seal King drags and flops its way across the sand. Huge and shimmering, full-on Jabba the Hut here. “Shall I commend your bravery or mock your foolishness?” Taller than Sam, pushed up on its front fins. Eight more feet of lower body writhe behind.

Dean heaves to his feet. “I wanna make a deal.”

_Hiss._ The Seal King blows a snotty huff through its… nose, Dean guesses. Looks more like a stunted elephant’s trunk than anything.

He stifles a shudder. “Your-uh… y’know… the mermaids.”

Another snort.

“They took my brother.”

Black eyes peer down at him.

“I want a chance to get him back.”

The Seal King snuffles. “You wish to join them?”

Dean shrugs. “If that’s what it takes.”

“Hmmm,” says the Seal King. “You are lovely enough.”

“Damn right,” Dean bluffs. Stands his ground as the King draws close. Fish-stink on the creature’s breath. Dean grits his teeth and doesn’t cringe when the trunk-thing sniffs his neck.

“My, my,” says the King. “You’ve seen much, mortal.”

_No shit._

“I cannot grant your petition.” The King pulls up to its full height.

Dean stomach sinks. Was a longshot, sure, but—

“I _should_ deliver you posthaste to Lord Oberon.”

“Whoa-whoa-whoa.” Dean backs up. “What’s that dick got to do with this?”

“He is my liege.” The King stretches its jaws and bellows. Clicks and grunts reverb off the walls. “Ruler of all fair folk—”

“Including mermaids.” Dean slumps.

“Aye, mortal, but do not despair. Your plight intrigues me.”

Roar off the ocean and Dean looks up as another monster wave breaks for the cave mouth. “Shit.” He shores up against the wall and gets his breath knocked out, again. Splutters and spits, blinks back salt.

Pulsing at the water’s edge, a rusty octopus. Beady eyes dart back and forth from Dean to the King.

“Friend of yours?” Dean asks.

The King’s eyes flare. “My loyal servant. You could learn from her.”

Dean shows palms.

“Step forward, mortal.”

Dean takes a deep breath—through his mouth, still almost gags.

“I propose a wager.”

_Great_.

“I can brace your feeble form against the depths,” it says, “for three dawns. If, in that time, you can melt your brother’s heart, he’ll be restored to you.”

“Awesome,” Dean says. “Let’s go.”

“IF!!!” booms the King. “For if you fail, I will collect you and return you to Oberon.”

“Fine, fine.” Ain’t like he’s got a lotta options here.

The King draws close. Its clammy trunk thing snuffle-slides along Dean’s jaw. “Endurance, yes.” The octopus paws at his legs. “Lung capacity…”

“Night vision,” Dean suggests, stifles a shiver.

“Yes! Very good!” says the King. “And insulation. Wouldn’t want those lovely lips turned blue.”

Dean grits his teeth; then, “Ow!” Rusty the octopus yanks out some leg hairs. Dean balls fists.

The King lifts up its nose and honks like a big rig. Rusty slinks off under the waves. “My valet will return with all you need.” The King twists away. “Good luck, mortal.”

He slithers off, leaves unsaid, _You’ll need it._

*

Dean fires up his stolen speedboat in the predawn gloom. Strips down to green board shorts and a life vest. Shivers, checks his supplies. Tide charts, compass, check. Some kinda dowsing rig: rainbow crystal on a silver chain.

Seal King threw in a locator spell for free.

He zips toward open water. Pendulum sways on its chain and white spray rooster-tails off the boat’s little outboard. Dean squints against the salt-wind, reads the incantation.

Power surges, speedboat pitches. Dowsing stone leaps into motion, arrows north, into the wind. Dean hauls in a breath and follows.

“Hang in there, little brother.” Teeth grind, throat gets tight. Sammy shoulda never even heard those fuckin mermaids. Lore’s clear: _Broken Hearts, men without country, without family…_

Makes Dean cringe. This is all his fault. Too tangled up in his own shit. Pissed about dog-girl, stressed about Cas, missing Benny…

He shakes his head. Can’t blame it all on the spectre.

Sky gets lighter as the sun creeps toward the horizon. Dean sweats. Every minute past dawn’s a minute wasted. Crystal quivers on its chain; Dean sticks with it. Surf gets heavy. Knuckles white as he catches air.

“Finally!” Dowsing crystal droops and Dean lays off the throttle. Dead ahead the surface ripples. Clumps of seaweed.

_Are those… heads?_

He steers wide, raises binoculars. They’re heads all right, bobbing around in the surf. All-colored hair: brown, gray, and blond all the way to purple, orange, and green. Bodies tangle with the weeds, and from here, _Huh._ Looks like all dudes. Not a boob in sight. Can't make much of their tails, obscured by the waves.

Rainbow stone glows in its rig; chain pulls taut, strains toward the pod. Dean checks the time. Two minutes to sunrise. Nothing like cutting it close.

He looks east. Uncorks a vial of viscous blue, maybe a shot’s worth. Forearm shields his eyes as the sun breaks, blazes above the horizon. Dean counts to three, licks his lips, and, _Down the hatch_—

_Blaghh!_ Spit floods his mouth; he almost barfs it straight back up. Long John fuckin Silver’s-flavored Robitussin or—

Pain explodes. Lungs catch fire and muscles seize like the worst full-body charley horse in history. Dean howls. Tears leak as he coughs and splutters, slobbers down his chin. Spasming, he wrestles off his life vest, slumps over the side and lands with a splash. Last burst of strength, Dean heaves a breath like broken glass and kicks clear of the boat before he blacks out.

*

When he comes to, first thing he sees are Sam’s eyes. “Dean?”

“Heya, Sammy.”

“Dean!” Sam rolls him up and squeezes, unselfconscious. Dean hangs on, still not-quite-steady and his mouth still tastes like—

_Ho, ly, shit._

Sam’s—Dean swallows—tail, ripples against him. Powerful, dense-muscled and warm. “I can’t believe you’re here! How did you—” Sam smiles like Lucky Charms days. “What are you doing here?”

“Lookin out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother—”

Sam’s eyes twitch.

“—what’s it always?”

Whistling, then. Ten or twelve mermen—armed, frog spears tipped with vicious barbs—swim a circle around them.

Sam gets serious. “They’re… not just gonna let you go.”

Dean shrugs. “Got no place else to be.”

Sam holds his eyes for a heartbeat. “Just… stick with me.”

*

Dean’s captors pen him neat behind a wedge formation, slice through the waves like a flock of geese. More mermen—yeah, Dean’s pretty sure they’re all men—fall in, join the procession while Sam stays close. Sam’s tail is… well it’s gorgeous in the sun, for all it creeps Dean out. Copper-brown, shimmering gold and green and blue. Sam flits and swims and watches Dean, eyes curious.

Mermen leap along the flanks. Spin in the air, whistle and laugh. Dozens of them, tight ranks. Seal King said they’re telepaths, which, Dean figures is why they don’t crash into each other. They escort him toward a sandstone sea stack. Five, six stories tall and maybe a half a mile from shore. Dean’s guards ring up around him again as groups break off and dive.

When it’s their turn, Dean breathes deep and dives. First real test of the Seal King’s spell—although, seeing how he made it this far without passing out gives him a bump of confidence.

Dean blinks; salt doesn’t sting. Bubbles escape his nose, and water pressure squeezes his ribs, but… Dean’s been choked out enough times to know the crush of oxygen deprivation, and this ain’t that. Feels like he could hold his breath ten, fifteen minutes in a pinch. Fuckin-a, that funky shit worked.

Sam watches him. Dean throws two thumbs up, gets dimples back. Sam’s longsuffering head-shake flares his hair. Dean grins.

Two-by-two they enter the narrow mouth of a sea cave. Swim down through a tunnel between wave-scoured rocks. Sheltering fish scatter like confetti at their approach.

On they swim as the passage curves. Up, and around a bend and Dean sees light, dim and distorted. Higher, brighter. Dean sticks close to Sam as mermen break the surface around them.

“Damn.” Dean blinks. “What is this place?” Red stone walls slope away from the central pool. Overhead, light streams through a massive blowhole; water sparkles.

“Rough translation?” Sam says. “The Cathedral.”

“Cathedral?” Dean squints. Place looks more like a stadium than some church. Sandstone ledges form tidal pools—lower bowl, mezzanine, upper deck. Mermen sprawl and splash, laugh and whistle. One hangs close. Babyface. Brown skin, bald head and a close-cropped beard. Tail gleams iridescent white.

Come to think of it, this guy shadowed Sam all the way here. Makes Dean itch.

Sam drapes an arm across Dean’s shoulders, squeezes. “You got this.”

“Got what?”

Then Sam’s hand slides to the small of his back, and Sam steers him—_steers him!_—toward a section of tiers where glittering, rainbow-colored mermen bask in the sun.

“The Elders.” Sam nods at a trio. Chilling in a shallow pool, maybe halfway up.

One burly islander. Hawaiian, Dean figures, or… maybe Samoan. Straight-up Khal Drogo, he’ll tell you that much. Tan, ripped chest. Dark eyes and high cheekbones. Long, sun-streaked hair curls below his shoulders, and… Down past his belly button, Khal Drogo’s human skin transitions to black-gray—shaded and shaped like a dolphin tail.

On his right, sporting a dark red fin, his… consort, Dean guesses, studies him and Sam. Dude kinda reminds Dean of Dad: dark-eyed, casually alert, ultra-composed. Wiry, almost skinny, not that anyone would say it to his face. This guy. He’s a killer.

Draped across them both—with hair, tail, and fingernails glimmering purple—a guy straight of an anime. Or like, an Asian boy band. Khal Drogo curls an arm around him. Boy Band strokes the big merman’s chest while his tail rests across Killer’s lap.

Sam’s face scrunches up and he nods. “Sorry, Dean.” He turns away, swims for the circled ranks that surround the central pool. Dean can’t help but notice, Sam goes straight for his bald little merman. Ariel—Dean’s gonna call him Ariel—loops an arm around Sam’s waist. Sam blushes, but Ariel meets Dean’s eyes. Sharp nod almost feels like assurance.

Dean’s spine tingles, Willow whip of a merman—white haired, yellow tailed—lifts a no-shit conch shell horn and blows.

Silence, outside the wind whistling through the cave and gulls screeching above.

The Elders stare. Khal Drogo expectantly, Killer a challenge. Boy Band nods like, _Come on,_ but… Dean just…

“Uh.” Quick glance at Sam. “I can’t hear you. Y’know, in my head.”

Sam’s forehand crinkles in concentration. “They,” he tilts his head, “want to know how you found us.”

Dean starts, “Your king—”

Sam interrupts. “You made a deal?” Pissy hair-flip. “Dean—” and he stops. To the elders, “Sorry.” Ariel nudges Sam, nods Dean’s direction and Sam swims out. “They’ll let me translate,” chin drops, “if you trust me.”

_Ouch._ Not that Dean don’t deserve it. “Course I trust you, Sammy.” Trademark smirk. He taps his temple. “Gave you the keys to the kingdom just showin up here, right?”

“It… doesn’t really work like—”

Wind shifts. Mermen splash and whistle.

Dean fights down a shiver as they stare: wary, terrified, outright hostile. “They don’t like me much, huh?”

“You’re a human,” Sam says, “but you’re immune to our Songs.”

_You’re _a human. Dean’s chest clenches. _Our _songs…

Best not to dwell on that.

“…shouldn’t even be able to see us.”

Sam scrunches up his face again and Dean’s skin crawls. Looks too much like his old psychic crap.

“They don’t know what to make of you,” Sam says.

Dean bluffs. “Long as they don’t make lunch outta me I’m cool.”

Sam frowns, but Khal Drogo chuckles. Boy Band cocks an eyebrow. All around him, quiet snickers echo off the walls. Even Killer drops a smirk. Least these dudes got a sense of humor.

Anyway, “It’s cause of the fairies.”

Boy Band whistles. Quick and complicated. Sam sings back—or, he tries to. Sam blushes and the mermen laugh again.

Dean steams. They can gank him where he stands—er, swims—but, they ain’t gonna pick on Sam right in front of him.

Ariel sticks two fingers in his mouth and blasts. Short, sharp, and _loud_. Cave falls silent as he breaks ranks, dives and pops up next to Sam.

Killer glares but Boy Band grins. Ariel echoes the call Sam couldn’t.

“What’s he, like… vouching for me?” Dean asks.

“More like,” Sam looks back and forth between them, “vouching for _me_, vouching for you.”

Dean blinks. “Okaayy.” Whatever works.

All three Elders put their heads together. Dean sweats a little. Never crossed his mind he’d hit resistance. He could be the next guy on a missing person poster.

Well… if there was anybody left alive to look for him.

Khal Drogo peers up from the huddle. Sam grabs Dean’s hand. Boy Band blows a kiss over his shoulder and the Killer nods. Ariel pulls Sam and Dean close, arms around their waists.

“This mean we’re good?” Dean mouths at Sam.

Sam winces. “I wouldn’t say, _good_, exactly.”

Dean squares up. If he’s going down, he’s going fighting.

“More like, ‘It’s your funeral.’”

Fair. “Won’t be my first.”

Sam fires a flat look, calms Dean’s nerves. _That’s my Sammy_.

Boy Band flip-flaps, slaps with his tail and the conch horn sounds. Mermen file out. Roll and dive from their ledges, plunge toward the depths.

Dean eyes Sam.

“Breakfast time!” Sam beams. Uncharacteristically enthusiastic for food.

Dean’s stomach growls and Sam and Ariel laugh. Take him by his hands and lead him back out through the tunnel.

*

They follow Ariel toward the coast, post up on a sandbar. Ariel settles them, Sam in the middle. Waves lap at their waists. Mermen hang on each other and soak up the sun, while hunting parties haul in woven seaweed sacks, stuffed with clams from the morning raids. Ariel expertly splits the shells with a monster knife. Bone handle, Dean thinks, silvery blade and a tapered point.

Sam’s tail—that’s gonna take some getting used to—stretches out in front of him. Fin floats in the shallow waves. Lightplay shifts the colors. Ariel pulls Sam close, raises a shell to his mouth. Sam tips back, swallows and smiles and Dean squirms; then Sam pulls _him_ close and Dean _really_ squirms. Sam offers the next clam, ducks his chin.

Quick glance around at pairs and trios. All these dudes feed each other, apparently.

“Hit me,” Dean says. Steels himself. Because, well… whole feeding thing aside… he’d much rather have his clams steamed (and drowned in hot sauce, thankyouverymuch).

Sam beams.

Salty, vaguely sweet, not too bad. Least he knows they’re fresh.

Dean watches Sam, tries to keep a check on what he’s thinking. No telling how much the kid already mind-melded out of him. Safe bet, focus on the case. Dean scans the beach. Nobody here matches any of the missing men—well. Nobody but Sam.

Sam turns down the last clam; Ariel offers it to Dean.

He holds a hand up. “I’m good.” Stuffed, if he’s honest. Musta gone through two dozen in between them.

Ariel tucks Sam’s hair, dry now, behind his ear. Noses his neck. Sam pops dimples, shoulders hitch and Dean’s stomach sinks. Then, it shoots right back up in his mouth when Ariel touches Dean’s cheek, rubs a thumb across his chin.

“What—”

Sam throws an arm around him. Trades some kind of loaded look with Ariel, who swims off. Slices through the water, quick and quiet.

“Thought you might wanna talk alone,” Sam says.

Dean gulps.

“Dean, this deal you made.”

_Heeere it comes._

“What did it cost you?”

Dean smirks. “Mostly just a few leg hairs.”

Sam looks annoyed.

“Good chunk of my dignity.”

“Will you be serious?”

“I am!” Dean spreads his hands. “Look. This, Seal King dude, he said I intrigued him. Probably the fairy thing. Y’know…”

Dean clocks a shaggy blond head swimming their way. Broad, muscled shoulders. Freckled tan. Swimmer—surfer, maybe. Come to think of it, this cat looks like fuckin Jay from _Clerks_.

“New guy!” Jay calls, pulls up and hugs Sam! Like it’s nothing!

Sam ducks his head and blushes but grins.

Low-level bitchy: “New-new guy…” Jay looks Dean up and down. “Nice legs.”

Dean bristles. “We get the job done.”

Wingman hangs off Jay’s four. Black skin, curious eyes. Sun-bleached dreadlocks trail past his shoulders.

“So like, what?” Jay’s head tilts. “You dudes knew each other topside?”

“He’s my brother,” Dean says, and there’s that funny look again. All three of them.

“Gnarly.”

Great, and he talks like Spicoli.

He eyes Dean. “Your brain blasts like an air-raid siren, Barney. Might wanna rein that in.”

Sam snickers; Dean’s teeth clench.

Jay hooks an eyebrow and Sam nods. Deep breath and he squints, crinkles his forehead—doing his telepath thing, Dean guesses. Half expects Sam’s nose to bleed.

Sam and Jay pull faces at each other, full-on silent movie act, while Jay’s sidekick watches, stony. Dean cracks knuckles, shoulders, neck. Digs in the sand with a clamshell. Best guess? Jay’s… quizzing Sam, somehow.

They high-five and hug again. Dean chucks his clamshell—which, hits the water with a satisfying plop. Wingman takes Sam’s hand in a fist, pulls and backslaps. Sam slaps back, bro-hug.

Breakfast breaks up. Dean and Sam swim side-by-side, slow, toward deeper water. Finally alone.

“So what’s their deal?” Dean asks.

“Who?”

“Jay and…” Dean smirks, “Silent Bob Marley.”

“Dude.”

Dean shrugs. “What am I supposed to call them?”

“We have names.”

Dean flinches.

“Though, they’re really just… whistles, I guess.”

“You understand that shit?”

“It’s not that hard.” Sam flips, floats on his back. “It’s kinda… Morse Code-adjacent.”

“Yeah, well. Sounds like a bunch of squawkin to me.”

Sam taps his head. “I get the same shit about mortal speech.”

_Fair_. “Anyway, your buddies back there.”

“They’re-uh…” Sam won’t look at him. “Brothers.”

“Guess their mom’s got some ’splainin to do.”

Now Sam looks, sour-faced.

“Think we can trust them?”

“Uh. Maybe? The one you called Jay’s been helping me practice my telepathy—”

“Seriously? Not your… clam daddy?”

Flat stare. “You are _not_ gonna call him that.”

Dean shrugs. “Been thinking Ariel.”

Sam eyerolls but, “He doesn’t talk. The older ones, it’s like… over time, they… lose their language.”

Makes sense.

“And chances are he never spoke English to start with.”

Right. Dean shoulda figured that. “But, all these guys… y’know, used to be human.”

Sam pulls up; shoulders glimmer as he bobs in the waves. “As far as I can tell, yeah.”

Dean treads water.

“I haven’t seen them,” Sam says, and Dean blinks. “The missing men. You were wondering if—”

“This,” Dean gestures around; mermen leap and splash in scattered groups, “is what we were hunting?”

Sam nods, lip in his teeth. “They were here, I’m pretty sure. Ariel—” He squints. “You’re really gonna go with Ariel.”

“You got a better idea?”

Sam eyerolls. “Ariel… seemed to recognize them. But, he couldn’t tell me what happened to them.”

“Hang on. How do three dudes just, poof, disappear from a bunch of telepaths?”

“We have our own minds, Dean; we’re not the Borg.”

That’s a relief. “But Jay said—”

“You’re a human.” Matter-of-fact. “Your thoughts are noisy to us.”

_So he’s gotta know—_

“You’ve had ‘Master of Puppets’ stuck in your head all morning.”

Yeah he has; he was humming it on the boat.

“But I’m not that good at this yet.” Sam blushes. “I can’t like, steal your secrets.”

Dean lets out a breath.

*

So these mermen—seriously, every time Dean thinks his life can’t get any weirder—spend the bulk of their afternoon goofing off. Kelp forest hide-and-seek, merman tag. Contests: diving, hunting, and leaping. Dean gets his ass handed to him. Sloppy, slow, and loud. Sam and Ariel—Jay, Khal Drogo, half a dozen others—make fun of him. Good-natured, though. Just guys being guys.

In between, they ask around about their missing persons. Well. Sam asks, with his Jedi mind shit. Dean picks at his pruney fingers. Watches the mermen. Watches for tells. He gets a lot of sideways looks and snickers. Burns his ass, like, _What? You forgot what legs are?_ But, he keeps it buttoned. No call to antagonize the monsters.

Pretty clear they’re split on their opinions of him. Killer, in particular, looks leery. Dean can’t hardly blame the dude. Boy Band, on the other hand, is fully Team Dean. Cheers him in the contests. Brings him food and colorful shells.

Makes Dean’s neck itch.

“Okay, dude,” Dean finally asks, “is he like, hitting on me?”

“No!” Sam about busts a gut. “He’s…” chews his lip, “spoken for.”

_And you?_ Dean almost pries, except… This is probably one of those, don’t-ask-don’t-tell situations.

“I think he just wants you to feel welcome,” Sam goes on. “He was the same with me, my first day.”

“Okay.” Dean shakes his head. “So where we at on suspects?”

“I’m not sure there _is_ a suspect.” Sam looks around. “No one really wants to talk about it, but… apparently, sometimes new mermen just… don’t make it.”

“Yikes.”

“I know.”

“Three in a row though?” Dean doesn’t like it.

“Yeah, that’s kinda weird,” Sam concedes, “but, not half as weird as you showing up here.”

“They giving you shit about me?”

“No…” Sam reaches out. “You’re,” hand slides down Dean’s arm, “sort of a… curiosity, I guess.”

Splash behind him. Dean wheels. Some merman he doesn’t recognize pokes him in the nose and swims off.

“You’re it!” Sam taunts, and Dean gives him a shove.

“Not anymore. No tag-backs.”

“Fine.” Sam stink eyes, dives.

Dean rubs his forehead. These fish-boys are fuckin—

Sam leaps. Sails above Dean’s head, spins in the air. Muscles ripple; colors gleam. Castoff rains down and Sam rips his entry. Coppery tail flashes, vanishes.

Dean stares.

*

Nightfall brings the pod together, sheltered spot where the kelp drifts thick at the surface. Ariel’s off doing… Ariel stuff, Dean doesn’t know. Can’t say he cares; he’s got Sam here.

“Okay, I got a question.” He floats on his back, stares at the stars. “Where are the girls?”

Sam floats beside him. “You got a one-track mind.” Elbow connects with Dean’s ribs. “There _are_ no girls.”

“Seriously?” Dean flips, treads water. “So you’re tellin me allll the old, sexy-mermaid stories are gay.”

“Oh my God.” Sam slaps the water with his tail and Dean bobs. “I think…” Sam pulls his telepathy face. “The-uh… the older ones, y’know, the most powerful… they can appear however they want.” Moonlight glints off water drops in Sam’s lashes.

“So like drag queens.” Dean can see that; he’s met Boy Band.

Sam rolls his eyes. “We’re not… male _or_ female anymore. It’s like—”

“You know what, Sam?” Dean’s winces. “I don’t think I wanna know.”

Sam shakes his head but his dimples flash.

Been a while since Sam gave him that, _You’re an idiot_ face.

Dean’s limbs weigh like lead all of a sudden. Can’t fight a yawn. “No chance there’s like… a merman motel around here.” Been a helluva long day.

Sam sweeps his arm. “You see it.”

Dean frowns. He expected, rocks or tidal pools or some shit. “Here?”

“Lemme show you.” Sam’s grin turns wicked. “Get on your back.”

“Aw, c’mon, Sammy, how ’bout some foreplay?” Sam’s eyes bug and Dean snickers. “Okay, okay.”

Sam digs in the kelp and comes up with an armload of long leaves. “Try to hold still, but relax.”

_Sure, that sounds easy_. “Dude!” Dean yelps as Sam starts wrapping him up like a fuckin sushi roll.

“I said relax.” Sam twists and folds, and Dean realizes the seaweed’s buoyant, holding him up. “We sleep like this so we don’t drift.”

Dean wiggles; Sam’s wrap job holds. Ain’t bad. Maybe a little… clammy and weird, but yeah. Kinda like an old-school waterbed. Sky’s full of stars. Dean sways on the current.

Splashing. Dean looks around; Ariel’s come back. Him and Sam make faces at each other, and Dean wonders what they’re un-talking about. Then again… After that girl/boy business, he’s probably better off in the dark. He shuts his eyes, counts sheep—mostly so his mind doesn’t wander into minefields.

Sam takes his hand.

Dean’s eyes shoot open and Sam smiles. Ariel holds Sam’s other hand, and they’re looking at him like…

“Night, Dean.” Sam gives him a squeeze.

Dean exhales. _Fuck it_. When in Rome and all. “Night, Sam.” And squeezes back.

He’s asleep by the time he gets to fifty.

*

Dean jerks awake. Red alert! Can’t move his legs! “Sammy!” Somebody tied him up in his—

Splash.

_Oh, right_.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” First light silhouettes Sam’s head and shoulders, all shadow under a rosy sky.

“Uh.” Dean feels his face turn red. “Crazy dream.”

Mermen stir.

“Sorry.”

Whistles and snickers. Dean ain’t gotta read minds to know they’re talking shit about him. He squirms but his legs won’t budge. Fuckin seaweed musta shrunk overnight, Sam wrapped him too tight, some damn thing. Sam and the fish-boys pop free like it’s nothin.

“Little help here?” The more he squirms, somehow, the more tangled up he gets.

Ariel’s knife glints. Dean clenches.

“Don’t get tense,” Sam warns, “or you’ll sink.”

“Easy for you to say.”

Ariel splits Dean’s seaweed blanket smooth between his legs.

“Hey, watch the jewels, huh?” And to Sam, “He remembers jewels, right?”

Sam’s lips pinch, hybrid mindmeld-bitch-face. Ariel rakes Dean with his eyes; lecherous grin disintegrates into laughter.

Dean shakes off kelp scraps and gets his bearings. “You two done?”

They share a smirk but settle down. “Uh, listen,” Sam says. “I’ve gotta hunt breakfast. You’re not, like, officially assigned or anything, but you’re welcome to join us.”

“Cool.” Dean nods. “What’re we after?”

“I dunno.” Sam shrugs. “This is my first time—” Lifts a hand. “Shut it.”

“What?” He didn’t even say anything!

“Just… stay close to me.”

Dean can do that.

Mermen take off, usual pairs and trios. Hunting party hangs back. Ariel leads Sam and Dean toward the Elders. Killer hands out frog spears. Hesitates, but off Khal Drogo’s nod he lets Dean have one. Dean weighs it in his hand. Lighter than it looks, flawless balance. Sam shoots him an impressed look and Dean agrees.

They ain’t been frogging since they were kids. Back then, all they had were piece-of-shit, split-branch, homemade spears. Excellent for two kids looking to get muddy. Lousy for catching frogs.

Armed mermen dive for the kelp beds. Dean inhales and follows. Broad, colorful tails propel and steer the raid. Dean lags, watches them fan out, weave between the stalks, weapons up.

Sam is grace, shadowing Ariel. Barely stirs the seafloor sand. Now and then a merman lunges, flash of spear and burst of bubbles.

Not a lot of light this deep. Colors wash out; Dean flashes on Purgatory. Wandering. Hunting. Except—this ain’t nothing like that. Nothing out here’s a threat, not to this crew. Nothing short of Jaws himself, maybe, or like… Shamu or some shit.

Sam zips Dean’s way—fuck, he’s quick—and hooks Dean’s waist. Sam _flicks_. Tail like a tree trunk surges, tumbles Dean and launches them toward the surface. Sam’s face almost glows in the rippling sunlight. Hair trails. Dean clings.

Dean pants when they hit the air. Splutters, “Whaaat, the fuck, Sam?” Shoves.

Sam doesn’t let go. “You’re distracted.”

“I am not.”

“Or I wouldn’ta got the drop on you.” He breathes in Dean’s space.

When _has_ Sammy ever ambushed him like that? “Hey. Sam?” Time to press a little. “How much do you remember?”

Sam’s head tilts.

“Y’know, from, dry land.”

“Everything, I think.” Sam says. “But…” He moves back, gives Dean space. “It’s different. Distant, almost…” eyes go narrow, “like, it happened to someone else.”

_Cold of heart_. Dean grinds his teeth.

“But it’s not like that soulless guy.” Sam blurts, musta picked up the vibe. “I don’t feel… empty. You know?”

“Okay, so—”

Boy Band breaches. Arches high above the water, silver now: short spiky hair and a chrome-bright fin. Spray off his tail sparkles in the sun.

Dean stares. “Did he really literally just shit a rainbow?”

“Dude.” But Sam laughs.

Ariel surfaces next, holding a fat red octopus triumphantly over his head.

“Oh my god.” Sam licks his lips.

_It’s calamari,_ Dean lectures himself. _Don’t be a pussy; it’s just calamari._ “Yum.” He swallows.

*

Chilling in a waist-deep tidal pool, Ariel, plus Sam and Dean share the octopus with the Elders. Boy Band cleans and butchers, slices the tentacles thin. No big surprise when he feeds Khal Drogo and Killer, but Ariel? Dean did not see that coming.

He may not know exactly how this whole, social structure works, but he’s pretty sure Ariel’s got juice.

Dean kinda likes him, hates to admit it. Ariel looks like a twenty-year-old kid, but he’s got a confidence about him Dean can’t help but respect. Plus, no denying he’s been looking out for them. Guy saved Dean’s ass, took him in, pretty much on Sam's word.

Ariel feeds Sam; Sam feeds Dean, same as yesterday. Tastes okay, but it’s tough as boot leather. Dean chews and chews—though, he seems to be the only one with a problem. Guesses he shoulda asked the King for sharper teeth.

After breakfast, Dean follows Sam and Ariel along the coast. Mermen lounge, rub each other’s shoulders, braid seashells and shiny rocks in each other’s hair. Some play: wrestling, showing off. And some… well… some make out with each other.

Dean tries to keep his eyes to himself, but it ain’t easy when they’re plain shameless about it. Color and motion, in his peripheral, pull his attention.

Dean blinks.

Jay’s got Silent Bob spread out in the shallows, fistful of hair, mouth latched on Bob’s exposed throat. Dean jerks his head away and finds Sam watching him. Wide eyes, hiked shoulders. Ariel swims ahead.

“Brothers, huh?” Dean pastes on a smirk.

“It…” Sam’s lips pinch. “Means something different here.”

“I’ll say.” No wonder Jay gave him the bug-eyes when they met.

Sam ducks his head. He looks so young, like the weight of Hell's been lifted off him. Dean oughta make a joke, but all he can think of is one bright morning, dozen years ago, and Sam—all long legs and dimples—blushing in his wrinkled tux. Shirt half undone, bowtie God-knows-where, just-fucked, beautiful. And Dean… found himself pissed off he hadn't been the one to mess Sam up like that. Made himself sick.

_Son of a bitch_, Dean thinks. Been years since he fought _that_ demon.

Sam peeks at Dean through his lashes.

“Hey.” Dean hooks Sam’s chin. “It’s cool, you know?” Which, he’s kinda shocked to realize, ain’t a lie.

“Dean.”

Five yards ahead, Ariel pulls up. Looks concerned.

Dean shrugs. “Always meant somethin different to us too, didn’t it?” He backhands Sam’s arm. “I mean…”

Sam’s eyes go wide.

Ariel smiles.

*

Dean floats on his back and watches the clouds drift overhead. Picks out shapes: a hand, a hammerhead shark, a dick, a light bulb, another dick…

Ain’t done this since he was a kid.

Ain’t much of a distraction either. He keeps checking his bare wrist. Cheap, so-called diving watch crapped out on his first day here, so there’s no telling how long Sam’s been gone. Dean doesn’t like it. Jay, showing up here, summoning Sam to the Cathedral.

_“No humans allowed, bro. Sorry.”_

Makes no sense. All-powerful Elders sending Moondoggie as a messenger boy? Dean tried asking around where the fuck Ariel is. Which, just got him a string of confused and/or irritated faces.

Useless.

He gets his bearings, best he can based on the sun. Swims toward what he thinks is the coast. Pretty sure he can find that Cathedral, once he sees the cliffs.

“Dean?”

Voice he doesn’t recognize stops him cold.

Silent Bob speaks. “You’re called Dean, right?”

He’s not alone; the Elders are with him. Dean’s blood runs cold.

“You should come with us. Your…” British accent, Dean did not see that coming. “Sam. I think he’s in trouble.”

Dean fuckin knew it!

Off his four, Ariel hauls ass toward the group.

“Let’s roll,” Dean says.

“We’ll be faster if you’ll let one of us—”

Ariel swoops in, points at his back and Dean climbs on.

“Call to him,” Bob says, “with your mind.”

“Can do.”

Killer signals and they fuckin _move_. Wind and spray assault Dean’s face; then he’s plunging. Whipped through the air and underwater. All his concentration goes to hanging on, and _Hang on, Sammy._

Doesn’t take long before the mermen circle up.

“He’s close,” Bob says. “We should split up.”

Ariel takes Dean’s hand. Khal Drogo pairs off with Silent—er, just Bob. Killer and Boy Band. Ariel breathes deep. Nods when Dean does the same, and dives.

Kelp grows thick and tangled here, blots out the sun. Giant leaves drift in the current, tickle as Dean swims past. Ariel runs point, directs Dean with hand signs. They weave between stalks. Dean keeps thinking about Sam: _Sing out, little brother, come on._

Ariel halts, tilts his head, points Dean around the far side of a massive boulder. Crabs and urchins creep below, tiny trails of clouding sediment.

Movement. Thrashing, twisting in the kelp. Flicker of silver might be a weapon. Burst of bubbles.

Ariel rockets toward the disturbance. Dean kicks, swims his guts out. Khal Drogo shoots down from above. Dean thinks he glimpses Boy Band’s hair.

“Sammy!” Can’t help himself. He gurgles. Spits saltwater and plunges on. Seaweed parts and—son of a bitch—Jay’s headed right for him. Bright blade the length of Dean’s forearm glints. Jay lunges. Dean swings sideways. Jay’s left shoulder plows Dean’s ribs. Air knocked out, he needs to surface. Jay rounds on him.

Outta nowhere, Boy Band launches himself at Jay. Jay slips free, comes for Dean again. Desperate, Dean swims toward the light, tries to lose himself in the seaweed canopy. Jay’s hot on his heels when Dean risks glancing back. Ariel, Boy Band, and Bob swim pursuit. Dean finds another gear, kicks kelp in Jay’s face. Jay swipes; knife flashes. _This is it—_

Sam blasts in. Knocks him clear of Jay’s blade. Killer appears and grabs Jay’s wrist, wrenches. Knife falls free and Jay’s surrounded. Sam doubles back. Seizes Dean from behind and hauls him up.

Fresh air. Dean gasps, sucks down lungfuls. Sam holds on, nose at Dean’s neck.

“Sammy, you okay?” Dean rasps.

Sam’s chin hooks his shoulder. “I’m alive.” He hugs Dean tight. “And so are you.”

*

Sunset on the Pacific stretches shadows, scatters gold and red and blue.

Dean treads water in the shade of the Cathedral. “What happens now?”

“He’ll stand trial,” Sam says, quiet.

“Why? Everybody saw him try to kill you.”

“Technically,” Sam grimaces. “Everybody only saw him trying to kill _you_.”

“And I ain’t one of you.”

Sam nods, cuts his eyes away.

Same crew that arrested Dean, looks like, leads Jay under. Ariel puts an arm around Bob, pulls him close.

Sam watches. “I feel bad for him.”

“Yeah, me too,” Dean admits. “That Jay’s a psycho, but—”

“He made him,” Sam mumbles. “They have a bond.”

_Like you and Ariel?_

Burns Dean’s ass, even though he brought it on himself.

Ariel keeps shooting worried glances Sam’s way. Obvious he cares about the kid, wants to take care of him. Dammit all, he can do it too. Better than Dean can, back on shore. All he’s got to offer Sam is drama, trauma, and death. Out here, Sam’s protected. Dean’s teeth grind.

The Elders surface, issue silent orders.

Sam translates. “They’ll deal with Jay tomorrow.”

Dean nods.

“…calling it an early night.”

Dean lets Sam carry him out to the sleeping spot. Bob stays glued to Ariel; both stick with Sam.

Sailing, splashing, over and under the waves, Dean makes his mind up.

*

Stars pop out overhead. Chill in the air lifts goosebumps on Dean’s skin. Bob and Ariel tangle up together in the kelp. Sam starts wrapping Dean.

“Wait.” Dean pulls him close. “Like them.”

Sam’s eyes go wide and dimples pop. Dean helps him wind the long leaves over and under them. Sam’ll be asleep when Dean’s clock runs out. Drown or freeze, dying in Sam’s arms is better than he deserves. God and Oberon and Crowley and whoever else can fight it out for what’s left of his soul.

He lets his eyes close.

*

Lips.

“Come on, Dean.”

Sam’s lips.

“Don’t you fucking—”

Cold lips.

Dean gags.

Manhandling. Head rolls; sand chafes in all his cracks.

“That’s it, big brother, I got you.”

Dean pukes. Spews saltwater all over the ground.

*

“Nah, we’ll be okay,” Sam says. “Kayak’s a loss, but…”

Sun beats down, high overhead.

“My… brother, had a rough go of it.”

_Damn, how long was I out?_

“He just needs rest.”

Stranger’s voice. “You boys are lucky.”

Dean blinks; eyes adjust slow. Faded pink flamingo beach towel wraps Sam’s waist. Sweaty water bottle drips in his hand. Sam’s feet…

“…really, can't thank you enough.” Sam’s feet! What—

“Glad to help.” Old-timer slings a bag over his shoulder and heads off down the beach.

Dean shoves himself upright. Muscles ache and his mouth feels like a dirty sock. Tastes worse.

“Dean!” Sam crashes to his side.

“Pass me that water?” Dean croaks.

Sam twists the cap and hands it over. Dean swishes the first mouthful, spits.

“You okay?” Sam’s lips press tight.

Dean takes a long swig. Shrugs a shoulder.

“We should get moving, soon as you’re ready. We need clothes, and…” Delicate: “Dean, what…” Sam swallows. “Where’d you leave the car?”

“Lockup. Over by SeaWorld. Safe and sound.”

They swipe a pair of trunks, couple of t-shirts from a Lexus parked across two spaces.

“Douchebag,” Dean says. “Oughta boost his stereo on principle.”

Sam doesn’t give him shit about it. Doesn’t say much of anything, hoofing it through San Diego, barefoot in too-big clothes. Nobody hassles them. Hell. Almost like nobody sees them.

Fuckin California.

Dean spins through the numbers on his trusty old combination lock. Storage door rattles and creaks open. “Ahhh, Baby. You miss me?” He pops the trunk, digs out a change of clothes. Board shorts are looking a little ratty. “Mannn, we gotta find a motel, stat. I need a bed—no, shower—no, food! Then shower, then bed.”

Sam just shrugs; makes Dean’s guts clench.

They head inland. Afternoon sun, bright in the rearview. Sam cuts off the radio. Dean grips the wheel.

“This morning…” Sam stares out the windshield, stone-faced. “You were so cold.” Grinds his teeth. “Barely breathing.”

Dean winces.

“How could you do that to me?”

“Do what, Sam? Try to see you safe? Finally?”

“Leave me! Make me grieve you. Again.”

“Grieve me?” Dean huffs. “Come on, Sam. Those fish-boys let Jay kill three of their own in like, two months, didn’t bat an eye. I did the research, man.”

Sam squints at him.

“‘Cold of heart,’” Dean quotes. “Mermaids don’t give a shit about humans. It’s like, the one thing all the lore agrees on.”

“That isn’t—”

“You gave up on me.”

“What?” Sam’s eyebrows shoot for the moon.

“Otherwise, they couldn’ta got to you in the first place.”

Sam’s fists ball in his lap. “_You_ gave up on _me!_”

“I—” Dean’s head hurts.

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t—”

“You left out some pretty fucking pertinent information.”

Okay, yeah, but, “You were happy, Sam.”

“Only once you showed up!”

Saved by the motel. Dean wheels under the rusty canopy and bails.

*

Hungry as he is—seriously, he’d cut a man for a breadstick right now—Dean feels too gross to eat. “Go shower,” he tells Sam, peace offering. “I’ll get the bags, call in a pizza.”

Sam snatches the room key, stalks for the door.

Kid never could let shit go.

Dean unloads, orders food, puts salt in the window and wards the walls. Lays out cash for the pizza guy and scrounges clean underwear. Shower hisses. Dean keeps thinking about fish-Sam. Laughing. Leaping above Dean’s head and stalking octopus. So much shit going on, he never stopped to appreciate how beautiful Sam was.

Sam is.

Wrapped in a graying, wash-worn towel, Sam leaves the bathroom in a cloud of steam. Water trickles down his back. Skin shifts and creases while he pulls a comb through his hair. He catches Dean’s eyes in the mirror. Looks away.

Dean slumps past him. Sand lingers in the tub, grit under his feet. Dean scrubs and his dick perks up. Pavlovian, honestly, privacy being a scarce resource his whole life. Lazy, soapy hand. Picture of mermen, making out.

_Brothers… means something different here._

Dean winces. Twists the tap and rinses cold.

He’s swiping on deodorant when the food comes. Pepperoni and garlic make his stomach grumble. Sam parks in the creaky office chair. Stares at some kinda cheesy, made-for-TV sci-fi shit.

“Can’t leave you alone with a remote for five minutes, huh?” Dean tries.

Not even a grunt.

Unopened boxes sit on the dresser. “C’mon, Sam, you gotta eat. When’s the last time you had carbs?”

Sam whirls on him. “Just tell me why.”

“Why…”

“I didn’t get a say. In what happened to me.”

“Sammy, it’s not like—”

“Why didn’t you ask me? What _I_ wanted?”

And… well… Dean’s got nothin.

“You thought,” quiet, “I’d choose them.”

On TV, implausibly attractive space marines gank cheap CGI aliens. Dean deflects. “My money’s on the blonde scientist.”

Sam stares.

“Maybe the chaplain, but that asshole colonel’s E.T. chow.”

“Dean…”

He meets Sam’s eyes. _Do I have to say it?_

“You. Are. An. Idiot.”

Dean’s stomach growls again, like to prove Sam’s point.

Hard eyeroll. “Bring me a slice,” Sam sighs.

Hope sparks in Dean’s chest. “This mean we’re good?”

He almost smiles. “I wouldn’t say, _good_, exactly.”

Dean plops the boxes on Sam’s bed, cops a squat.

Sam glares. “Eat on your own bed; you’re disgusting.”

Dean shrugs. Passes Sam some pizza, tears into his. Huge bite. Cheese burns his mouth—worth it—and he shoots Sam a saucy grin.

Sam oversells grossed-out. “Jesus Christ.”

“Oo ruv it,” with his mouthful.

Sam side-eyes. Mops up grease puddled in his pepperonis. Nibbles. “I would’ve died out there, without you.”

“Bullshit,” Dean says. “You saved _my_ ass, dude. Silent Bob brought in the cavalry, and your boy Ariel…” He chucks his crust, general trashcan direction. “Jay fucked with the wrong—”

“That’s… not what I meant.” All the heat’s drained from his voice. Sam looks at the floor between them. “They can’t, live… without a brother.” Chin tips up. “And I wasn’t looking for a replacement.”

Dean’s chest squeezes. “I’m sorry, man; I didn’t know.”

Sam deflates. Takes another bite of pizza, blips tomato down his chin. Dean swoops in. Hits his knees between Sam’s feet, cleans him up.

“Dean, what—”

Dean kisses him.

Sam’s jaw drops; he touches his lips.

Dean pushes stray hair back from Sam’s face. “You thought I was staying.”

Sam gawks.

“And you never told me not to say we’re brothers.” Palm cups his jaw. “So tell me now, Sam. What do you want? I swear to God I’ll—”

Sam springs. Hauls Dean up and plants him on the mattress. “Dean, you do not fuck with me on this.”

Smartass reflex kicks. “Aww, c’mon—” but… Dean’s ginormous, genius, best-hunter-he’s-ever-seen little brother, who, at the moment, fully has the upper hand looks… “I wouldn’t.” Dean whispers. “Sammy, you know—”

Sam mauls him. Kiss so hot he about creams his shorts. Hips smash. Squeezed between Sam’s legs. Big hands pin his wrists. Jagged moans as Sam swipes with his tongue. Nothing but teeth to fight back with. Dean pulls Sam’s lip in his mouth. Soft bites and hard licks. Hot breath, friction, decade’s worth of repression. Dean lets Sam have it all. Bucks under him. Groans into him. Thin t-shirts and boxers, shower- and sweat-damp. Sam’s hair tumbles, tickles at Dean’s face.

“Sammy,” in between smacks, “the food, man.”

A mighty huff and Sam turns him loose. Panting, kneeling across Dean’s thighs.

Dean moves the boxes to the nightstand. Filthiest grin. He shoves up, gets Sam behind the neck and presses their foreheads together. Breathes Sam’s air. “If you,” quiet kiss, “really want this…” fingers in his hair, damp at his nape, “That’s all I need to know.”

Sam’s eyes close, chest convulses.

“Tell me what you want, Sam.”

“Everything. Fuck, Dean. Anything. What, what do you want?”

Hooked eyebrow. “Well. If it’s up to me I’m gonna flip you over and fuck you till you can’t walk.”

Sam’s mouth opens on a half-laugh, half-gasp, all-hot sound.

“You down for that?” Dean runs a hand up Sam’s throat, drags his thumb across Sam’s lips.

Sam sucks in a breath and nods.

“Naked,” Dean says, nudges him off. He rolls out, scares up lube and rubbers. Chucks them on the bed.

Sam picks up the bottle. “Passion fruit?”

Dean smirks. “Chicks love it.”

Sam’s hair flips, all pissy and cute.

Dean strips his t-shirt, drops his shorts. Points. “Thought I said naked.”

“Make me.”

Dean attacks. Peels Sam’s shirt off, shoves him back and drags his boxers down. Sam’s hardon twitches with his pulse. Thick, purple-red. Dark hair trails toward his navel. Dean strips his t-shirt, drops his shorts. Slots between Sam’s thighs, rubs on him. Bump-slip burns and rips a moan out. Sam bends, wraps Dean with his legs and pulls him closer. Head falls back. Hair splays on the pillow and neck shines. Dean licks. Salt, heat. Sam shakes underneath him. Fuckin gorgeous.

Sam kick-flips, shoves Dean down, knocks his breath out.

“Damn, Sammy.”

Wet lips drag down his chest and Dean groans. Sam peppers kisses on his belly. Muscles jump; Sam leers at him. Drifts. Mouths Dean’s hip bones, tongues the creases.

“You gonna suck my cock, little brother?”

Sam growls.

“Get me wet?”

But he skips Dean’s dick. Dives to kiss between his thighs.

“Fuckin tease.” Dean pushes to his elbows. Cranes his neck to watch Sam work. Long, strong back. Tight little ass. Sam’s spine ripples, feet hang off the mattress. Dean reaches, combs fingers through his hair.

Sam’s eyes flutter up. Bare hint of dimples, spit-shined lips. Tongue peeks, breath falls heavy. Takes all Dean’s willpower not to thrust, get at that mouth. Sam holds him there, dares him and Dean thumb-traces his cheekbone.

Sam shifts. Bedsprings creak and his lips seal slick around Dean’s head.

“Holy fuck.”

Tongue swirls. Neck bends. Shiver of teeth, roof of his mouth. Scalding. Dean’s abs clench, thighs shake. Sweat collects behind his knees. Torture. Doesn’t wanna come like this but he sure in the fuck doesn’t wanna say stop. Sam eases, like he knows. Licks Dean’s length, mouths at his balls.

“Jesus.”

Lashes tremble, glassy gaze. “Want you.”

Dean nods.

They switch. Sam lays out, bends his knees and offers up everything. Dean’s dick jumps. Palms slide up Sam’s thighs. Dean holds him there. Licks lips and stares. Sweat glues Sam’s hair to his face, pools at his throat and shines his chest.

“Turn over,” Dean says. “Want you on your knees.”

Shuddery inhale. Sam goes along. Rolls, arches like a cat before he settles back. Lube cap snaps like gunshots.

“Ready?” Dean spreads Sam’s cheeks. Skates wet around his rim.

“Please.” Pillow-muffled.

Dean’s head spins. Barest pressure and Sam gives. Muscles flex around his finger, searing heat. Sam moans, pushes back and pulls him deeper.

“More, Dean. Don’t stop.”

Greedy bitch.

Dean slips. Knuckles catch and he twists, probes. Sam groans. Dean adds slick. Stretches him, two wide. Taut and shiny and so, so tight. Sam shudders, sways under him. Rails himself when Dean goes still. Sweet slide. Dean presses a third and Sam’s back bows. Neck cords pop. Dean just holds him there, whispers filth and his name.

Sound Sam makes when Dean pulls out almost does him in. Face-down in front of him, fists balled. Dean’s hands shake but he gets a rubber. Pulls Sam closer. Lines them up.

“Sammy, you—”

Sam shoves back. Dean breaks through. Fire. Pressure. _Fuck_. Inside his brother and he’s the one filled up. Sam rocks. Dean’s cock slowly disappears. He folds. Noses Sam’s spine; arms curl around. Mixed sweat. Seconds stretch.

“Dean?”

_Oh. Right._

Dean hooks Sam’s hips. Lifts. Works him shallow. Slow. Buries himself to the balls before he breathes. Sam moves. And, Dean moves. Acclimates. Accelerates. Thighs slap, headboard thumps, springs screech. Sam squeezes. Punched-out soft grunts. Dean lets loose. Wraps Sam up and strokes him.

“Come for me, Sammy.”

Sam roars.

Dean shatters.

*

Takes him a minute or ten for his wits to come back. Sam musta got the condom, gone for—

“Dean?” pitchy and tight.

He bolts up. Goes for his gun. “What is it, Sam, what’s wrong?”

“Uh…” Sam stares into the bathroom.

Dean creeps. Peeks through the open door and blinks. “Rusty?” Fuck, he hopes. Otherwise, there’s a random octopus in the tub, waving a knife around.

Weirdly, the fuckin thing nods. Crooks an arm like, _c’mere._

Dean shrugs. They squeeze in the space and Rusty presents Sam with the bone handle. Silvery blade gleams.

Ariel’s knife.

“Is this…” Sam thumbs intricate carvings, breaking ocean waves. “Is he okay?”

Rusty perks up. Nods again and twists her arms. Dead-on mimics dreadlocks.

Sam smiles. “They’ll be good together.”

Rusty agrees. Bends two arms in a heart shape, makes it beat.

“So,” Dean guesses, “no more disappearances?”

“No,” Sam says. “Not for a good long while.”

Rusty bows, turns into water and slips down the drain.

Sam studies the knife.

“Hey.” Dean elbows him. “You sure you don’t wanna go back? I got the spell; we can summon that Seal King fucker and—”

“No.”

“I mean. Seemed like a sweet deal, you know? No more demons, angels, no more crap food, cheap motels…”

“I told you, Dean.” Sam pins him to the door. “All the way in.”

“Heh-heh. That’s what _she_ said.”

Sam rolls eyes.

Dean kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> [Don’t forget to show the artist love!](https://nisaki-chan.tumblr.com/post/188341770059/art-for-wbb)


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